“Travis, you’re not working on Friday, right?” Nicole demands, slamming her tray down onto the table. I look up slowly. It’s Monday, and therefore way too early in the week to be slamming shit around and snapping at your friends. Nicole apparently didn’t get that memo though, because she just widens her eyes at me a little more.

“Uh, right. Why?” I ask.

“You’re going to Junior Ring with Blaire,” she says, and she pops open the top of her soda like the matter is settled. I stare.

“What? No, I’m not. I don’t even want to go to--”

“Travis! You have to! She doesn’t have a date because she’s been waiting around and hinting to you, but you haven’t noticed because you’re retarded. I told her I’d get you to finally ask her,” she interrupts.

Shit. The junior ring dance is basically the most important social event of eleventh grade. The entire school goes, paired off like Noah’s ark, to spend an entire night trying to catch some of the “best days of our lives” fever the seniors have, and then there’s some huge graduation-wannabe ceremony to pass out class rings. Exactly why I didn’t want to go. Besides, this is the first Friday night I’ve had off from work in months, and I’d been planning to spend it pretending to watch a movie with Garen in my room. And now I’m supposed to spend it pretending to give a shit about bonding with my classmates? No fucking way.

“I have plans,” I finally say.

“What plans?” Nicole demands. Again. God, take a fucking pill. It works for me.

“I promised Garen I’d hang out with him. Brotherly bonding and all that shit,” I say. Faye chokes on her sip of soda, and I kick her under the table.

“You’ve got the whole rest of the weekend to do brotherly bonding with him. But not Friday. I promised Blaire you’d take her, and if you don’t already have a date, you have to,” Nicole says.

I do have a date, just not one I can tell her about. Fucking Sophie’s choice. I can say fine and condemn myself to a hellish night of pretending to be okay with Blaire trying to make out with me, or I can say no and have everyone in my grade wondering why I’d rather spend time with my mom’s boyfriend’s gay son than go to a dance with someone who is probably supposed to be one of the hottest girls in school.

“People with your track record don’t get to make those jokes,” she says.

“I’m not joking, Faye, look at what I’m wearing!” I say.

“I like the tie,” Garen adds. I look over at him. He’s lying on his back on my bed, his head hanging off the end of it.

“Shut up,” I order.

“No, I’m serious. You look like this waiter I fucked one time,” he says. Without even meaning to, I make a low sound in the back of my throat. Garen bursts out laughing.

“Did you just growl?” Faye asks.

“No!” I say, but that’s a total lie, so I add, “Shut up.”

“Come here,” Garen says, beckoning me forward and still laughing. I take a few steps towards him and he stretches his hand out until he can grasp my shoulder and pull me down towards him.

“Faye, turn around,” I say. She shakes her head, grinning, but does it anyway. I kneel down so I’m level with Garen, who still hasn’t moved, and kiss his upside-down lips. His fingertips sink below the collar of my shirt to stroke the back of my neck, and I shiver and lean back.

“What time is everyone getting here?” I ask.

“I can turn around?” Faye asks. I glance over at her. She’s watching us in the mirror with a would-be innocent look on her face.

“Pervert,” I say. She smiles.

“I know. They should be here soon. Miles said sometime around seven thirty,” she says. She turns around and sits down on my desk chair.

“I still feel sick about this entire situation,” I mutter. Garen sits up and spins around to sit Indian-style facing us.

“Come on, it’ll be fun. I mean, first of all, you get to spend time with all your classmates, and I know you love them. And second of all, you get to drink spiked punch, which is probably going to lead to much inebriated dancing from Corey and at least two catfights from Nicole. Oh, and third, your favorite part, you get Blaire hanging all over you and acting completely desperate and disgusting because she’s a fucking obsessive whore who will do anything to get her crazy, sickening, skanky hands on you, and--”

He stops abruptly, looking from me to Faye and then at the floor. “That ended up being more of a rant than I intended.”

“Bitter much?” Faye asks.

“Not bitter,” Garen says loudly, “just… apprehensive.”

“About what?” I ask. He blinks.

“Okay, Travis, did you miss the big speech about the slut-faced whorebag you’re bringing around as your date?” he asks.

“She’s not… that bad,” I say. Even as it comes out, I shake my head and change tactic. “Okay, so the whole dance is going to blow, but whatever, it’s only a few hours, right?”

“God, Travis, why didn’t you just ask Garen?” Faye mutters. I snort and move to stand in front of the mirror.

“That’d go over well. Although I’d definitely be the first guy to bring his stepbrother who he’s sleeping with to Junior Ring,” I say.

“Point taken,” Faye concedes.

“Plus, I have other plans,” Garen adds. I frown at his reflection.

“What plans?” I ask. He rolls off the bed and comes to stand behind me, wrapping his arms around me and pulling me back against him.

“Moping,” he says, kissing my neck to punctuate the word. “And sulking. Maybe writing some screamo songs about the agony I feel inside because I was abandoned for a school event, of all things. You know, ‘Travis left me for a dance, and now I can’t get in his pants.’”

“Shut the fuck up,” I say. He grins and kisses my neck again.

“I like it, though. I could keep going with that one. I think emo is my calling. ‘He left me here, I’m so alone --’”

“Oh my God, shut up now,” I say. The doorbell rings downstairs, and I duck out of his arms. “I hope I wasn’t supposed to get her a corsage or something, because I didn’t.”

“Nicole probably handled that two,” Faye says.

“You ever think maybe Nicole is vicariously living out her secret passion for Blaire through you?” Garen asks. Faye and I both stop halfway down the stairs and turn to stare back at him. He shrugs. “Just a thought.”

It turns out somebody already supplied all the corsages, so the first problem really encountered is everyone handing their cameras off to Garen and begging him to take a thousand group pictures. He does reluctantly, and ten minutes later, we’re all piled into Miles’s car and heading towards the school.

“Yeah. Me too,” I say. It’s not that I hate Blaire. Sure, she’s annoying sometimes, but she seems sweet enough, I guess. I’d just rather be anywhere else than here having her hold my hand. Luckily, my phone buzzes in my pocket, so I extract my hand from hers and check the newest received text message.

To: Travis

From: Garen’s Cell

Message: He left me here, I’m so alone, but luckily he brought his phone / So mopey texts he will receive as I sprawl across his bed and grieve.

I grin. Tonight might not suck that badly after all. Cute. You spend all this time coming up with that? I type back. The reply comes a minute later. No, I spent all this time weeping in a corner. Come home?

I don’t reply, but the texts keep coming for the rest of the car ride, little dirty rhyming phrases. ‘Right now you could be getting head / But you went to the dance instead.’ And as we arrive at the school and pass through the front doors, I get one last message saying ‘I’m betting Blaire is having fun / But I’m also betting you should run.’ So true, I realize as Blaire laces her hand with mine. To her, this dance is the final affirmation that she and I are a couple. To me, it’s something that had no real alternative.

She pulls me into place to get our picture taken. The photographer positions her in front of me, and drapes my arms around her waist. She leans back into me and we both grin for the flash. If two years of medication has taught me one thing, it’s how to lie.

This is so fucked.

Our group filters into the gymnasium, and I want to be sick. The lights are off, but there are a few colored spotlights stolen from the drama club. A giant disco ball is rotating slowly on the ceiling, the world’s tackiest spider in a web of black and white crepe paper streamers. A DJ is set up in the corner of the room, and he puts on some disturbingly romantic Lonestar song. Blaire leans her head on my shoulder.

“Thank you for asking me tonight,” she says. I want to point out that I didn’t ask her, but instead I just smile at her. She keeps her eyes open too long when she looks at me, and I can just tell she’s wondering if she can get me to kiss her yet. Shit.

“Let’s dance,” I mutter, pulling her out onto the floor. I know how girls like Blaire dance, and once we’re on the floor, it’s exactly what I’d hoped. She doesn’t really put her arms on me. Instead, she sort of curls up against my chest and leans her head against my collarbone. From this angle, there’s no way she can kiss me. Now it’s just a matter of getting her to stay like this. I turn out to be surprisingly adept at that. Every slow song, Blaire leeches onto my chest. Every fast song, Corey, Miles, and I all protest that we can’t dance because we’re guys, and we shift back to a table on the side. Two hours into it, the lights come up and Principal Hammond calls us up alphabetically to receive our class rings. When my name is called and Vice Principal Davies slides my ring onto my hand, I guess I should feel some sort of school spirit. I don’t at all. I just feel… fake.

“Jesus Christ, is it almost time to go?” I say, moving so only Corey can hear me.

“Dude, I hope so. I’ve got so many other plans, and they all involve not being here,” he says. I nod in agreement. Finally, some sanity. The rest of the names are called in the most mind-numbingly dull non-ceremony ever, and the lights click back off for the last song. Blaire’s back in my arms, not even waiting for me to ask this time.

“It’s exciting, isn’t it? I mean, getting class rings is one of those big high school moments,” she whispers after a few minutes.

“Yeah,” I reply quietly. “It’s great.”

This entire night is complete shit. The fact that I’m standing here actually pretending to like Blaire is shit. Having to cancel my original plans is shit. Not being where I want to be and with who I want to be with is shit.

In one swift movement, Blaire picks her head up off my shoulder and presses her mouth to mine.

Shit.

I panic, not knowing if I should pull away or kiss back. I settle for not moving at all, and then she leans all her weight into it, for reasons I can’t comprehend. That’s not passion, that’s force, and she’s forcing me to make up my mind. Tentatively, I kiss back. Woah, fuck, bad move. Blaire’s mouth is open in a second, her tongue probing the inside of my mouth like she’s trying to count my teeth. The song ends, the lights flicker on, and I ease her off of me. I’m not sure if I’m supposed to say something, or at least make some sort of specific gesture. Luckily, I don’t have to. Faye appears at my side, her face contorted with emotion.

“Come on, I’ll tell you on the way,” she says. I glance back at Blaire, whose eyes are widened to four times their usual size.

“Bye, Blaire. It was… fun,” I say, and I follow Faye out the front door. She races to Miles’s car and I clamber into the back seat.

“What’s going on?” I demand. Faye glances back at me.

“I was rescuing you,” she says. Miles pulls out of the parking lot and stares at me in the rearview mirror.

“Either of you gonna tell me what the hell just happened?” he asks. Faye twists around in her seat to face me, her eyes wide. Are you telling him? she mouths. I widen my eyes and mouth back, Now? She half-shrugs. Okay. Okay, breathe.

“I’m sort of gay. And sort of sleeping with Garen,” I say. Well that’s… one way to say it. Miles laughs.

“You serious, man?” he asks. I stare.

“Um, yeah. Thanks for laughing?” I reply.

“Nah, I don’t mean it like that. It’s just… what do you expect me to say?” he asks. I shrug.

“I don’t know. Well… I’m pretty sure you can guess what I thought you’d say,” I say. The grin lessens, and he fixes his eyes back on the road. There are a few minutes of silence, then Miles clears his throat again.

“Lakewood’s got like, less than eight thousand people. And me, my mom, my dad, and my two sisters… you ever notice we’re the only black family in town?” he asks. Of course I noticed. How could I not? It doesn’t even have anything to do with racism, as far as Lakewood is concerned. We’ve got Miles’s family, three Hispanic families, and one couple with an daughter they adopted from Beijing. Other than that, the entire town is white. It’s impossible to not notice that Miles is black.

“Yeah,” I say. Miles shrugs.

“Yeah, I figured you know that. But you know how many times I’ve been called nigger?” he asks. I stare at him. “A lot. So I’m not gonna act like it’s okay for me to be mad when people call me that and then turn around and hate you for just being who you are. I’m not that kind of person. None of us are.”

Those last four words are total bullshit, and all three of us know it. Regardless, it helps. I nod.

“Thanks,” I say hoarsely.

“I told you everything would be okay,” Faye says softly. I nod again.

“But I gotta ask, man. Did you have to pick your damn stepbrother? There’s nobody else it could’ve been?” Miles asks. I grin and shake my head.

“No. Nobody else,” I say.

“Then what the hell you doing kissing Blaire Kennedy?” he demands. I groan and lean forward against the headrest.

“I couldn’t stop her! One minute we’re dancing, then next she’s got her tongue down my throat. It was fucking… she’s just… she’s a girl,” I say.

“Excuse me?” Faye says loudly, and I roll my eyes.

“You know what I mean. It’s just she’s not…” I trail of and make a sort of gesture. I can’t say it, but I know they both get it. We make the rest of the drive to my house in silence, and once we pull into my driveway, I pause at the door.

“Thanks again,” I say. Miles waves me off.

“Don’t even play like you still wanna be out here talking to us. You’ve got a stepbrother to go mess around with,” he says. I roll my eyes but head inside anyway.

The house is dead quiet. It’s a bit disconcerting after the noise of the dance, so I take the stairs as slowly and quietly as possible. Once I’m at the top, I can hear the faint sound of the television from Mom and Bill’s room, coupled with Bree’s voice from hers. I pause with my hand on my doorknob, then slowly turn to face Garen’s door. It’s shut, and there’s, surprisingly enough, no music seeping out from underneath. Maybe he’s asleep. And maybe I don’t care. I need to see him. Right now. After all of the shit of tonight, I need to know I spent the entire time feeling guilty and shitty for a reason. I hesitate a moment, then knock softly. A few seconds later, it opens a fraction of an inch. Recognition flashes across the sliver of Garen’s face I can see, and he pulls me in, shutting and locking the door behind me.

“How was the-- oh,” he says abruptly as I more or less tackle him onto the bed. I plant my knees on the mattress on either side of his hips and lean down to kiss him. It lasts about a minute before I pull back to rest my forehead against his, his face sandwiched between my palms.

“Only you,” I say in an almost inaudible voice. He touches my hip in what I’m sure is supposed to be a reassuring way, but it just starts an uncontrollable trembling.

“Only me what?” he asks. I close my eyes.

“Only you… do this,” I whisper. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Even once I got involved with him, I was never supposed to think of us like this. Like a couple. Like I was cheating on him if Blaire grabbed me and kissed me. Garen clears his throat, jolting me back to reality, and moves both his arms up around my waist.

“Yeah. Yeah, of course. Likewise,” he says. I don’t know what to say, but I must make some sort of sound, because he grips me a little tighter and sits up. “Hey. Just you, Travis. I promise. No one else, okay?”

“Okay,” I say in something halfway between choking and laughing. He kisses me once more, and I shift off to lie next to him.

“How was the dance?” he asks. I snort.

“Do you even have to ask after that?” I demand. He props himself up on his elbow and widens his eyes at me.

“She tried to kiss you, didn’t she?” he asks. I stare, and his eyes widen a little more. “Oh, she succeeded?” I nod. “How was it?”

“Are you kidding me? First, she puckers her lips like a fucking fish, and then she doesn’t kiss me. Oh, no, because there’s a chance that might’ve actually been good. No, she slams her lips against mine and leans all her weight into it. And don’t even get me started on her tongue, because-- it’s not funny, so stop laughing right now.”

He doesn’t, and I try to smother him with a pillow. He finally stops, and I relent, settling comfortably into the crook of his arm.

“So am I better than her, then?” he asks.

“Obviously,” I say, and he decides to demonstrate. I yank my school ring off my finger and drop it on the bed.

“Oh, right. That was the whole point of this night of torture,” he says.

“Torture for me,” I say.

“And me. You think you’re the only one who wished you were here instead?” he asks. I smile slightly, and he extends his hand. “Let me see it.” I hand him the ring and he examines it carefully for a few minutes.

“I can’t picture you wearing a school ring,” he says with a slight laugh. He drops it onto my stomach and covers it with his hand. I add my hand to the pile.

“No one even wears them anyway. Or at least, no one wears their own. Just their boyfriend’s or girlfriend’s or whatever,” I say. Garen nods slightly.

“You know Blaire is going to expect yours. And Nicole will beat you to a pulp to get it for her,” he says. I smile slightly, but shake my head.

“She can’t have it,” I say.

“Yeah, maybe then that’ll get her to back off,” he replies. Slowly, shakily, I slip my hand under his to retrieve the ring and grab his left hand off the mattress to slide it onto his ring finger.

“No. There… there are other reasons,” I say. Garen stares at his hand for at least a minute. Fuck. Was this completely wrong? Am I that retarded that I thought this was okay to do?

He untangles himself from me and gets up, heading for the closet.

“This--” It comes out hoarse, and he clears his throat while rummaging around on the top shelf. “This was going to be my present for you. For… for Hanukkah. But I want…”

He trails off and returns to the bed, a small white box in his hand. He holds it out. I take it and open it.

It’s a ring. A thin silver band, engraved with some symbols.

“It’s Hebrew. It says ‘ani l’dodi, v’dodi li’,” he says slowly.

“What does it mean?” I ask. He’s silent for a second, then shrugs slightly and shifts so he’s sitting across from me.

“It means uh… I am my beloved’s and my beloved is mine,” he says finally. I have no idea how to describe the reaction I have to that. My throat constricts so I can’t breathe, and my heart starts pounding. I slide the ring onto my finger and grab his hand.